


Mulder And The Camellias

by Minuete



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s04e05 The Field Where I Died, Episode: s05e05 The Post-Modern Prometheus, F/M, Historical moments for Washington DC buildings, Original Characters - Freeform, Time warp, gala - Freeform, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 16:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17811803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuete/pseuds/Minuete
Summary: Mulder and Scully attend a gala, but it doesn't go as planned.  Mulder experiences a strange phenomenon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scullystarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullystarlight/gifts).



> I hope you find this story enjoyable. There were many WIPs and discarded stories for a fairly cute and easy prompt regarding potential love notes, flowers, blind dates, possibly FBI balls... I don't know if my story truly satisfies the prompt.

Mulder woke up to the annoying beeping sound of his alarm clock he’d placed on top of his sofa with a groan. He had the most pleasant dream that he didn’t want to end so soon. Fading images of it flashed through his mind as he slowly rose to consciousness: the Great Mutato, Cher, Jerry Springer, and Scully. He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the two of them dancing together; his delight at Scully’s astonished expression as he twirled her around the small dance floor followed by her genuine grin. This rare form of an upbeat mood didn’t go unnoticed in the office when Scully caught Mulder humming. She asked him about his peculiar behavior while finishing up a report.

“I had a strange dream last night,” he answered.

“Yeah? What about?”

“We were on some case that played out like a comic book with a Frankenstein plot all in black-and-white until I woke up. Jerry Springer and Cher were in my dream.”

Scully arched her right eyebrow. She managed amusedly to refrain from smiling as she continued with her interrogation. “I know I should be surprised, but it seems fitting for both Jerry Springer and Cher to be in your dream. The ‘Walking In Memphis’ song you’re humming was in it too?”

Mulder cleared his throat, feeling a blush form on his cheeks. He busied himself at the desk re-sorting small stacks of reports and files. He didn’t meet her gaze when he mumbled an affirmative. “We danced to the song in my dream.”

“Danced? The two of us? To this song?” Scully’s tone was skeptical. Mulder nodded.

“It was nice. My dream ended with the two of us dancing in the last comic book frame,” Mulder answered wistfully. He risked a glance at Scully and caught a smirk on her face.

“I think your subconscious is reminding you of the FBIAA gala happening tonight, Mulder,” she said. He tapped his mouth with his left index finger in jest, pretending to be in contemplation.

“Is it tonight? I completely forgot.” He dodged a pen Scully threw at him in response as she guffawed at his remark.

“Don’t start, Mulder! Considering that the two of us never made it to the team-building session in Florida a few weeks ago, Skinner highly recommended—rather mandated— that we make an appearance to this year’s gala. In all the previous years, we somehow managed to skip out of this function with an out-of-town case.”

“Blame it on the Moth Men, Scully.”

“You owe me a wine-and-cheese social.” I owe you more than that, Mulder thought to himself. He held his gaze a second longer than necessary before coolly asking how she was getting to the venue. This year’s site was at the National Building Museum.

“I plan to take a cab. How about you?”

“Same. I’ll meet you at the gala then?” Scully slightly nodded as she turned her attention back to her laptop.

“I’m about finished with the report and my view on the case of the murderous identical twins.”

“They weren’t murderous, Scully. More suicidal than anything due to their twin language and increased isolation from society.”

“They each wanted the other dead, Mulder. They claimed that one of them has to die so that the other could live a normal life. Attempts of murder by arsenic poisoning were thwarted when a store manager of a local hardware store made a call to the police to report large purchases of rat poison by a woman on separate occasions.” Mulder shrugged.

“So it didn’t help that they both loved watching ‘Forensic Files,’ and had a fascination with murder mysteries.” Scully sighed as she picked up the twins’ autopsy reports beside her laptop.

“I do find it ironic that they both died of natural causes only a week apart. One from cardiac arrest and the other from a pulmonary embolism.”

“All were pertaining to matters of the heart,” Mulder quipped. Scully gave him a look.

“I still don’t know how this was considered an X-File.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet Marilyn n’ Monroe.” Scully rolled her eyes as she set the autopsy reports down.

“As I was saying, I’m about finished with the report. There are some last minute errands I still have to do before tonight’s event, so I plan to leave early right after I drop off my report to Skinner.”

“I’ll drop it off for you, Scully,” Mulder offered. “I should be done with my report within a couple of hours.”

Twenty minutes later, Scully headed to the copy room to retrieve her report. She returned looking flustered as she dropped the report on the desk.

“The nerve of that jerk,” she muttered as she paced about the office in front of the desk, her left hand on her hip while her right was free to gesture while she continued talking. Mulder had an idea of who the jerk Scully was referring to: Agent Mark Lawson from the White Collar Crimes Division. Lawson newly transferred from the Mississippi field office, and took a liking to Scully complimenting her any time they ran into each other with his Southern drawl. Scully wasn’t charmed, finding the manner of Lawson’s approach unprofessional and insincere. “Agent Lawson cornered me into heading to the gala together.” In a mocking tone, complete with a Southern accent she continued, “‘I overheard AD Skinner is expecting the X-Files division to attend. I didn’t know you’re a member of the FBI Agents’ Association! I’m attending the gala tonight too!’ He found out I live in Georgetown and ‘what a coincidence; we’re practically neighbors’ since his residence is only two blocks away from mine. He offers to pick me up promptly at 7 pm by taxi and enjoy tonight’s festivities.”

“And you accepted?” Mulder looked at her with an incredulous expression, internally kicking himself in the ass for not suggesting they arrive at the gala together. But how could he? They lived in entirely opposite directions. He was used to picking her up to head to Dulles Airport for a case, not to the National Building Museum for a fundraising event. Not off-duty hours to a black tie affair. Shit.

“I better see you around the main entrance by 7:30 pm, Mulder,” Scully said. She was staring intently at him. “He offered we arrive together, but that doesn’t mean I’m saddling up with him the rest of the night. Somehow he found out this year’s function isn’t a sit-down dinner, but rather hors-d'oeuvres and cocktails served the entire night allowing active and retired agents along with bigwigs from the Capital more opportunities to mingle.”

“Okay, I’ll be there when you arrive to whisk you away from Lawson.” Scully looked down at her report, blushing.

“Thanks. I better get going.” Mulder watched as she readied herself to leave for the rest of the day. She opened the office door, walking across the threshold, then looked over her shoulder at him, the fingers of her right hand tapping on the edge of the door. “Oh, Mulder. The color of my dress is indigo.” A shy smile briefly flashed on Scully’s face, her blush more pronounced as he returned her smile and nodded. She exited the office leaving the door open. Mulder leaned back on his chair and sighed once he heard the clicking of her heels fade away. _Idiot, idiot, idiot_ , he chastised himself mentally still ruminating over his lost opportunity of accompanying Scully to the museum. He quickly drafted his report about the suicidal twins and headed to the copy room. When he rounded the corner, he overheard a couple of male agents conversing and recognized one of the voices to be Lawson’s from his Southern drawl.

“I didn’t leave her much choice in the matter of declining. Once she heard that groups were taking cabs based upon vicinity…” Lawson trailed off when he saw Mulder. The agent was a couple of inches shorter than Mulder, with a stocky build. He had the look of a wrestler with ash blond hair and brown eyes. Lawson smirked in greeting.

“Well, hello there, Agent Mulder.”

“Good afternoon,” Mulder greeted passing by Lawson and the other agent towards the printer to retrieve his report. Mulder riffled through the stack of prints on top of the printer’s main output tray with his thumb until he spotted his report. He fished his pages carefully from the heap, leaving a paper out from the pile as his place marker in case he missed a page in his report.

“Will we be expecting to see you at the gala tonight?” Lawson asked.

“‘We?’” Mulder continued to count the sheets of paper in his hand. He mentally accounted for all the pages.

“Yes, Agent Scully and me. Did she tell you that she’s accompanying me tonight?” Mulder hummed noncommittally as he turned away from the printer still focusing on his report. “As I was telling our colleague here, Agent Brady, there are groups of folks carpooling to the venue based on vicinity. Once Agent Scully heard that I lived nearby her, she suggested the two of us share a cab.” Lawson’s voice lowered as he continued with a smug smile, “The funny thing is I don’t live near her at all. I just said I did so the two of us could ride together if you catch my drift.”

Agent Brady snickered. Mulder looked up then. His jaw clenched as the grip around his report tightened leaving a slight crease. To the untrained eye, Mulder’s expression appeared bland. He started to head back to the office. As he passed Lawson and Agent Brady, he said, “Word to the wise, Lawson: Agent Scully hates pretense.”

Once he returned to the basement office, he quickly assembled his report in the same file folder as Scully’s since hers was labeled correctly with the case file number, then quickly assessed the room in preparation to leave for the day. Should he call Scully to let her know Lawson’s duplicity? She did tell him that she was cornered into agreeing to share a cab with Agent Lawson; she was already wary about the guy. Mulder quickly tidied the desk and shut down the computer. _Scully’s a big girl and an armed federal agent_ , he thought. Any unsolicited advances from Lawson would result in a black eye or a bloody nose. He grabbed the report on his way out to leave in Skinner’s inbox. 


	2. Chapter 2

Mulder stood in front of his mirror in the living room retying his bow tie for the fifth time. Like all his neckties, his bow tie ended up slightly off center and askew. He sighed resignedly as he straightened the lapels of his black dinner jacket. _At least I correctly folded the pocket square_ , he thought and admired his handiwork of the indigo-colored pocket square protruding out of his dinner jacket. He checked his watch and realized that the taxi should arrive at any moment. A glance towards his kitchen table, Mulder accounted for his keys, cell phone, badge, and wallet. He looked at himself in the mirror one last time before heading out the door with his items and an overcoat.

“Sorry, mister,” his taxi driver said as Mulder entered the cab, “There’s a huge accident on Fenwick Bridge. I’m going to have to take a detour like everyone else, but you’re gonna be late for your venue.” Mulder looked at the time on his watch.

“We have an hour before I’m considered late,” Mulder answered recalling Scully telling him to meet her at 7:30 pm. The cab driver nodded as he headed north towards I-395.

A half hour later, and they still hadn’t crossed the Potomac River even with the detour. What the hell was going on?! Mulder checked his watch: 7:15 pm. He dialed Scully’s cellphone, but it went straight to voicemail. After a third attempt to reach her to no avail, Mulder decided to leave her a voice message only for Scully to return his phone call. He switched over to her incoming call.

“Scully? Hello?”

“Mu—, is that you?” Her connection was weak and staticky, breaking up over the phone. “It’s really —ad reception here.”

“I want to let you know I’m running late.”

“What?”

“I’m going to be late.”

“—orry, Mul— didn’t catch—“ she got cut off again as Mulder raised his voice as if shouting in the cell phone would help with reception.

“I’ll be late!”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon!” Scully’s line goes dead as Mulder stared at his phone cursing at his luck. The cab driver looks up in the rear view mirror sympathetically.

“Was that your date?” The driver asked. Mulder placed his phone back in his dinner jacket.

“No, um, my work partner,” he answered. Another half hour and the cab stopped in front of the White House. Mulder decided to pay for the cab fare and walk the rest of the way as he watched passersby casually strolling past.

“Sir, I don’t know if that’s a good idea given your attire,” the cab driver said.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” Mulder replied and shut the door as he briskly walked to the museum. He saw the cab zip past him to a pedestrian hailing for a ride a few yards away. Even walking briskly, it took him another 15 minutes to reach the museum. There was a line near the entrance for coat check. Mulder was about to ignore and skip the line entirely until an usher stopped him from entering the venue. He groaned.

“Are you serious? I’m already late to meet someone.”

“I understand, Sir, but all guests must check in their coats.” The usher led him to the correct spot in line. Mulder worried his bottom lip as he scanned the area hoping to spot Scully’s hair in the large crowd up ahead. He reached in his dinner jacket for his cell phone to see “No service” on its screen when he flipped it open. _Damn_ , he thought, _Scully requested one thing from me tonight, and I couldn’t deliver_. Another 10 minutes passed until he finally checked in his coat and entered the Great Hall. He had been here before when meeting with potential witnesses, but it never ceased to take his breath away at its architectural display of the numerous arches and large pillars segregating the hall into three open courtyards. Tonight, there were large streamers strewn high above from the third story with lights cast upon them creating a warm, ethereal glow. He didn’t realize there would be so many people attending this FBIAA gala, as he surveyed the space keeping an eye out for Scully. There were hors d’oeuvre stations placed along the perimeter of the hall where lines were formed, while waiters and waitresses were walking with trays of cocktails and empty glasses and dishes, making their way through the guests that were mingling around numerous bar-height pub tables scattered in the middle of the hall. Mulder thought he heard a familiar giggle and turned to his right. A few yards away, he made out Scully’s form in a figure-flattering indigo-colored gown, her profile looking up at a distinguished-looking older man with graying dark brown hair as she sipped her cocktail drink. By her side was another man with sandy-blond hair who seemed quite friendly with her as he placed his arm around her bare shoulders and pulled her in close to whisper something in her ear. She giggled again as she placed her free hand on the man’s upper back. _Oh_. Mulder let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he slowly receded into the crowd. He grabbed a cocktail off a tray from a passing waiter and took a large gulp. A mixture of tang and bitterness went down his throat as Mulder felt a tap on his left shoulder. He turned his head and saw Lawson step up beside him.

“Guess we’re both shit outta luck, huh?” Lawson asked with a sarcastic smile, and what looked like a scotch on the rocks in one hand as his attention was also on the scene unfolding in front of them. Mulder chose to remain silent as he finished his cocktail and placed it atop a pub table with an urgent sense to flee. He smiled politely at some agents he recognized, missing the appreciative glances and stares from the fairer sex, as he morosely walked away from Scully.


	3. Chapter 3

Mulder needed someplace quiet to think. Weaving through the crowd, he ran into Skinner and a group of FBI directors. “Sirs, Ma’am,” Mulder greeted the group respectfully with a polite nod.

“I’m glad to see you here! Did you run into Agent Scully? She was looking for you,” Skinner said. Mulder shook his head.

“No, I can’t say that I have, Sir,” Mulder lied.

“Stick around long enough, and I’m sure you’ll catch each other.” Mulder nodded and continued his walk towards the dark west wing of the museum that was under construction, cordoned off with makeshift partitions and canvas sheets. The bustle of the festivities quieted as he approached the area, relieved yet annoyed that he’s seeking solitude in a room full of FBI agents at an event that he was mandated to attend. Mulder leaned back on one of the partitions and let out a sigh. He should feel happy for Scully that she’s enjoying herself at this function. These social gatherings were her element. Had she never been assigned to the X-Files…

His thoughts were starting to take a dark turn until he heard a horse’s whinny right behind the partition he was leaning upon. Confused, he turned around to face the makeshift barrier. Another sound. This time the horse snorted, then the clopping of its hooves as it walked alongside the temporary wall. Mulder quickly followed the sound walking parallel to the partitions, until he saw a crack of light from a gap that a canvas sheet poorly hid. He reached out and pulled away the sheet to see that there was enough space for him to slip through. A glance over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching before he crossed the barrier.

What the hell? It was broad daylight with clear skies and the sun beaming down. Mulder squinted his eyes before blinking several times, still seeing sunspots behind his lids until his eyes finally adjusted. He took in his surroundings, then checked his watch for the time. His watch stated quarter to nine. The horse was nowhere to be found as he stood on a sidewalk facing a street. He turned around expecting to see the makeshift partitions but discovered an empty, large field full of native foliage. _What the hell was in that cocktail,_ he thought to himself as he walked into a young woman dressed in a Civil War era costume of black taffeta. She was carrying a basketful of various cut flowers that jostled spilling out some of her flowers.

“Sorry about that,” Mulder said. He helped her gather the fallen flowers on the ground.

“It would help me out immensely, Mister, if you could purchase some of my flowers,” the young woman replied with a slight twang. She seemed oddly familiar with dark brown hair and large brown eyes.

“Is this some type of play-acting? What’s with the attire?” The woman looked at him confused.

“You’re the strange one, Mister, with your choice of wardrobe.” She turned her head towards the other side of the street where passersby were going about their day: men in their overcoats and top hats walking towards their destination; ladies in taffeta dresses carrying parasols. Mulder noticed the horse-drawn buggies and carriages.

“Who’s the President?” Mulder asked cautiously as his eyes flickered from the passersby to the young woman. She straightened herself up, clutching her flower basket closer to her. She adjusted her bonnet that was framing her face.

“Are you daft? It’s President Abraham Lincoln,” she answered with a scoff. “Now, are you going to purchase any of my flowers or not?” Mulder shook his head. He carried present-day cash, not the greenbacks that were issued by the federal government. The young woman sighed and started to walk away, crossing the street. Not knowing what to do, or where to go, Mulder followed her.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I didn’t catch your name,” he said easily strolling beside her as she headed toward the General Post Office. She eyed him warily.

“What’s it to you, Mister?” The young woman set her shoulders when Mulder opened the door to the General Post Office for her. Once she entered the building, she finally answered, “My name is Mary Johnson née Kavanaugh.”

“Kavanaugh? Are you related to a woman named Sarah Kavanaugh from Hamilton County in Tennessee?” Mulder asked. That was why she seemed so familiar. He had stared at Sarah Kavanaugh’s photograph long enough to have engrained her image in his memory. Mary Kavanaugh had strikingly similar features to Sarah. Mary looked startled and pulled him away from the main line for folks retrieving their mail.

“Quiet!” she hissed. “We’re in the middle of a war! I don’t need anyone around here knowing that I grew up down there. And how do you know of my older sister Sarah?”

“You’re far away from home. Are you a Southern Unionist?” Mulder avoided the question. She hesitated before looking away with a sad look in her eyes.

“I grew up in the South, but I fell in love with a Yankee. Before the war spread, the two of us ran away at my sister’s insistence. I knew I must have broken my parents’ hearts, but...” she looked down at her basketful of flowers. “It has been nearly over a year since my husband Charles was drafted to fight in this Godforsaken war. He promised that he would send me a letter every week. It’s been three weeks since I last received one from him.” Mulder bit his lower lip looking away from Mary and saw an elderly man reading The Daily Evening Star, noticing that the date was October 16, 1863. The Battle of Missionary Ridge hadn’t occurred yet. Sarah Kavanaugh hadn’t witnessed Samuel Biddle’s death yet; it wouldn’t be until another month.

“Did your husband write to you of his whereabouts?” Mary let out a snort and sighed.

“He joked how he would pay a visit to my family, get his much-deserved punishment from my father. It sounded like his troops were heading that way.” Mulder nodded, worrying his bottom lip. He had a passing thought of wanting sunflower seeds and a glass of whiskey for this weird hallucinatory time-warp he was experiencing. If Scully were here, she would say this was all in his head. Hell, the psychologist in him was screaming “hallucination,” perhaps brought on by his mind trying to process what it saw at the gala — a weird defense mechanism. Mary snapped him back to the conversation at hand. She looked at him imploringly, expecting a response. Mulder looked dumbfounded.

“May I ask what to call you, Mister, since you seem to know Sarah.”

“I’m William Mulder.” There was a slight pause when he decided to use his middle name as his first at the last minute. “Fox” didn’t seem like the most popular name during the Civil War era. He realized he was being stared at by the folks in line for their mail; they were curious about his strange attire. He turned his attention to Mary and said in a low voice, “Listen, Mrs. Johnson, I have reason to believe that your husband’s troop will be involved with an upcoming battle at Missionary Ridge not far from your hometown. Your sister, Sarah, will be there along with a Confederate soldier by the name of Samuel Biddle.”

“I don’t understand,” Mary said shaking her head in disbelief, “How do you know all of this? Are you a spy for the Union? This war has caused many rifts among families, Mr. Mulder. I have lost all contact with my family in Hamilton County once the war ramped up. I am afraid to send any mail to my family lest the postmen think I’m a Southern sympathizer. I am sure the same could be said for Sarah. She wanted Charles and me to be happy, however fleeting happiness is.”

“Mrs. Johnson, there’s a nurse named Clara Barton here in Washington who is helping coordinate medical and other supplies to the Union troops. If anyone who’s anyone knows where your husband might be, then it would be her.” He could see tears forming in Mary’s eyes, as she stared at him incredulously.

“When will this all end, Mr. Mulder?” she whispered. He looked down at his shoes, dirtied and scuffed from the gravel when he walked across the street. Before he could respond, a postman shouted “Next!” and beckoned for Mary to approach the counter. She placed her basketful of flowers down on the floor beside her. Mulder stood to the side, observing her body language as it remained tense when the postman stepped away from the counter in search of mail under her name. He returned with a bundle of worn letters wrapped in twine.

“These just arrived today. Haven’t had a chance to sort through them yet,” the postman said. “Do you know which regiment he was in?”

“Yes, he is under The Army of the Cumberland.” Mulder could see Mary gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white. The anticipation as the postman looked through the letters was palpating. The postman cleared his throat.

“Ah, here we go: To a Mrs. Mary Johnson from Major General George H. Thomas.” She took the letter and moved to the side, her basket of flowers forgotten. She approached Mulder and tore the letter open, her expression a mixture of dread and hope. Mulder empathized. He had that same feeling during Scully’s cancer whenever she returned from an oncology visit. She quickly scanned the letter. A smile of relief crossed her face. Mulder let out a breath and relaxed.

“The Major wanted to inform me that Charles is recovering at a Union hospital set up in Virginia. Through the collaboration among Union and Confederate medical staff, they swapped several soldiers from both parties to be near their home camp. The letter was dated just last week. My husband’s alive, Mr. Mulder!” He gave her a weak smile. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that most soldiers during the Civil War died from an infection.

“You need to go see him,” Mulder said, “Just buy the first train ticket to Virginia.” She nodded in agreement, quickly wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. She retrieved her basket and handed Mulder a couple of white flowers.

“These are camellias. I’m bestowing upon you some good luck with the first white camellia, and the second is for you to pass it on to your lady love when you see her,” Mary explained. “I can sense that you have someone you care about, and the confusion on your face tells me that you desire to return to her.”

“I came from over there,” Mulder replied pointing his finger towards the direction of the field that would house the future Pension Building, nearly more than a decade after the Civil War ended to care for the surviving war veterans and widows. It wouldn’t be until a century later that the Pension Building would be known as the National Building Museum. Mary smiled at him with a dubious expression on her face.

“Well, then, I suggest you head back where you came from, Mr. Mulder. I’m sure she is waiting for you too.” Mulder gave her a sardonic smile, firmly grasping the two camellias. He walked to the main entrance of the General Post Office and opened the door passing the threshold. 


	4. Chapter 4

It was dark, with sounds of Friday night activities in Washington DC. Mulder had to find his bearings, realizing that he was standing outside of the abandoned Tariff Building of what used to be the General Post Office during the Civil War era. He could see the National Building Museum from where he stood. Relief washed over him as he made his way to the gala again, his quick strides became a light jog. He offered a silent prayer of gratitude to the strange meeting with Mary Johnson once he reached the museum entrance, still in a daze at what occurred while he held the two camellias. Did Mary and Charles live out their days post-Civil War? He’d have to check the death records later. The usher that led him to the coat check earlier greeted Mulder politely. His cell phone started to vibrate. Mulder reached for his cellphone in his breast pocket with his free hand. A few yards away at the edge the Great Hall, he spotted Scully hunching over, cupping her cell phone next to ear as she paced back and forth trying to find reception.

“Mulder,” he answered with a smile watching Scully contort her upper body hoping for better cell reception. She was a sight, focused on the call that she didn’t notice the gawking onlookers who were waiting for their hors d’eouvres to be served. Her indigo-colored strapless gown was slimming, cascading just below her hips to a small flared skirt. It was elegant, tasteful, and understated.

“Mulder? Where are you?” She asked. Her back was turned towards him.

“Right behind you.” The distance between them was close enough for Scully to hear his actual voice as she turned around and ended her phone call. She had a classic Hollywood glamour look; her hairstyle looked windswept as it was styled away from her face. She accessorized with simple pearl earrings and her staple cross necklace. She smiled warmly at him, her eyes full of glee as she approached him while placing her phone away in her clutch.

“You. Are. Late.” Scully punctuated each word poking at Mulder’s chest with her right index finger. “I was wondering where you were at, and then I ran into Skinner for a second time who told me he saw you heading towards the west wing. I had to fend for myself the first few minutes from Agent Lawson! Thankfully, I ran into an old college buddy of mine who works for a contractor analysis lab. I need to introduce you to Glen and his life partner Steve.” She paused and noticed his flushed and dumbfounded face. Her brows furrowed as she placed her hand on his forehead checking his temperature. “What happened to you anyway?”

Mulder shook his head and held up the two camellia flowers in front of Scully. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” She hummed admiring the flowers. Pursing her lips, she looked him over again and smiled when she noticed the pocket square.

“You coordinated with my dress.” Mulder held her gaze as he snapped off the stem to one of the camellias, and slipped the flower into the tuxedo dinner jacket buttonhole. He snapped the stem off of the other one and placed the flower behind Scully’s left ear, his fingers lingering in her curls.

“Now it looks like you coordinated with me,” he replied admiring his handiwork. Scully tucked in her chin and averted her eyes as the back of Mulder’s fingers grazed her left cheek. He could make out her faint blush through the dimmed lighting. He decided to confess, “I was here earlier and saw you getting pretty chummy with another guy that wasn’t Lawson. I figured that you were having a fun time without your ‘Spooky’ partner pulling you away for weird leads. This type of gala function would be an everyday occurrence for you if you weren't assigned to the X Files.”

“I was dying from boredom, Mulder, when I returned to teaching at Quantico. Besides, who else would keep you in tow with the bureau?” He placed his arm around her bare shoulders and drew her in close, his breath disturbing fine wisps of her hair.

“I wouldn’t want to be partnered with anyone else,” he mumbled into her ear, “Especially one who cleans up rather nicely.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Scully said grinning. She led them further into the Great Hall where music and dance filled the space. The next song came on: Walking in Memphis. Mulder stopped in his tracks and offered his hand to Scully. She smiled and accepted his hand as he led them to the dance floor staged in the middle of the Great Hall. The two of them danced throughout the night with Scully’s laughter mingling with the bustling sound of the FBIAA gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing how procrastination evokes creativity. Struggling with the prompt for three whole weeks finally had me revisiting the ghost story idea, but instead became a pseudo-Alice in Wonderland.


End file.
